Poem Rushing About

by Bruce McRae

people's like

grasshoppers on

a hot griddle

what the hell

is it with all the

fidgetin’ an’

fussin’ people

oughta read more

books or ponder

under apple trees or

take up whistlin’

or sketchin’ or learn

to jus’ sits real still

an’ worry less

‘cause as far as

I can see all this

busy-bodyin’ ain’t

makin’ nobody happy

in fact it bein’ quite

the opposite they's

runnin’ ‘round like

chickens searchin’

for their heads or like

they's on fire or

lyin’ on an ant hill

their lives go go

go but their souls

is starved an’

what in the hell’s

so odd ‘bout inner

peace an’ a sense

o’ calm an’ jumpin’

jimmy look at the

time I'm already

late an’ I ain't

even started

Bruce McRae, a Canadian musician currently residing on Salt Spring Island BC, is a multiple Pushcart nominee with well over a thousand poems published internationally in magazines such as Poetry, Rattle and the North American Review. His books are ‘The So-Called Sonnets (Silenced Press), ‘An Unbecoming Fit Of Frenzy’ (Cawing Crow Press) and ‘Like As If” (Pskis Porch), Hearsay (The Poet’s Haven).

Midnight is a Dirty Word

Liam Pezzanno

Why is midnight a dirty word?

I feel it in my teeth

Because it’s the wrong medication.

I feel it in my skull

When i’m exposed to

Solar radiation

And i feel it when the dread god

Yog Sothoth touches

His many eyes to my

Frontal lobe

Moonlight soaks my clothes

Puddles in the streets

Music fogs my windows

Stars are flashing, and when

I close my eyes my nerve

Endings strobe in tune

But out of sync

Red, blue, green

When the sun rolls away from us

She drags the blue veil behind her

And in the midnight we see the

Empty light years

That reach us from the far

Away for no reason in

Particular

We have basements because we

Secretly understand the need to

Hide from everyone else and

Be alone

The skyline pours into your

Bedroom upside down, a

Spilled coffee mug

Neon city casting

Red, blue, green

Shadows on tall

Stone institution walls

So i’m stepping over puddles in the

Street, black collar

Turned up to hide my

Face from the

Embarrassed rain

And i fear my

Personality is

Leaking

I fear the

Pictures of me that are

Taken by accident

If i were made of

Stone, and if the only thing

Between

was a

River I’d still

Swim to

You

You dream of being an

Ocean, you

Boil yourself in a

Teapot

My mother has started asking

Questions about when i’m gonna

Find another nice girl to bring to

Her birthday party

Third

Eye, believe it or not,

Is quite off

Putting

And in the midnight their

Brains begin to glow,

While their faces are

Concealed

You undress in the darkness of my room,

You burp on your cider as you roll down your stockings,

You hate whiskey but you shoot

mine as you hang up on

your mother,

And i want to love this world,

But it doesn’t really care to

Acknowledge me,

I want to live in the Ocean,

But she is cold,

The earth embraces,

But it smothers me,

I kiss the wind but she

Cuts my face

The Sun’s a fairweather friend,

The Moon loves the attention but won’t come over,

And i just wish i could surrender,

Lie down and leave a note pinned to my door,

“I’m unlocked, come in if you wanna”

If only it were enough,

But I park on a lonely street,

And my eyes water my hands,

Until lilies bloom from my palms,

But that has nothing to do with me, and those

Monsters are so big they wouldn’t

Recognize me in an elevator,

As i go on,

Lilies are my favorite flower,

And midnight is a dirty word.

Liam Nicholas Pezzano has lived in New Jersey, Queens New York, and now New Haven CT. He believes the universe is big enough for all of us, but that you really need to chill out about it. He is pictured here on the right with his brother (on left), and his father (middle).Special thank you to Billy in New Haven for the feedback that led to this work. "Nope. Do a long one."
He has more work available for consumption here

The Jordan River Was a Giant Shower

Mendes Biondo

I sold my soul to your hand woman

you blessed me into your church

while we were having a shower together

you kneeled and started sucking

the water was falling on my head

your hands keeping mine in them

we were a celtic knot

a perfect bond made of

flesh bones sweat tears blood

sperm piss shit hair nails

there was a blues sound in the background

feet stomping with the same rhythm of drops

kisses beating like hearts like drums like hands

the music of the bodies

clapping tunes

washing notes

opening shampoos flask cracks

solid soap sliding on skin

then balms and creams

hair driers howling

no incenses were lit

our skin was steaming

we got cleaned

we took care of us

we let all the dust fall from our shoulders

we perfumed like ancient gods during

a ritual lost in time

the sacred bull of Orpheus

his blood falling was changed

into hot smoking water

now I know I love you

now I’m sure my body is ok

you said to me

but you were a holy bread

I ate and I was a holy wine

you drunk many times the night before

I sold my corpse to your hand woman

I gave it all to you

now I’m free

now I know I love you

Mendes Biondo is an Italian journalist and author. His works appeared on Visual Verse, I Am Not A Silent Poet, Literary Yard, Angela Topping Hygge Feature, Indigent A La Carte, The BeZine, Scrittura Magazine, The Song Is, Poetry Pasta and other magazines. He is one of the editors of The Ramingo's Porch along with Marc Pietrzykowski and Catfish McDaris. His first book of poems will be published soon by Pski's Porch Publishing.

Alligators of Abilene

Michael A Griffith

Alligators of Abilene take the mall's escalators

up to the dude ranch diner

where bulls eat fat dictators ala carte blanche.

Marmalade, the farmer's daughter,

heaves like an avalanche as those alligators

race up the promenade for her virginal lemonade.

Their teeth tickle her lemon patch's hair.

Ticker-tape falls from her quaking face and

her squeals alert Daddy's piggies that it's time

to eat again.

Michael began writing poetry as a way to stay mentally and spiritually fit as he recovered from a disability-causing injury. His works have appeared in print and online journals and publications and have been translated into several languages. His first chapbook of poems will be published by The Blue Nib later this year. I live and teach near Princeton, NJ.

Remember when you read that passage from The Doll Tome to me

Sara Lefsyk

Remember when you read that passage from The Doll Tome to me? Winter was a struggle and I was pushing daisies everywhere inside myself. Writing letters in the voice of my pathology and begging for a treatment to become a little more temporary.

I was reenacting a scene from my early childhood disembodiment when I took a photo in a staircase and titled it “still life while falling while floating above myself.”

Remember when you wallpapered your bathroom with starcharts then bought a bus ticket to the other side of that violent snowstorm? Back then, there was a piece of me that longed to be left at the bottom of the sea.

But you were always at the edge of some valley tying pieces of the sky together, shattering ghosts and, in your arms, carrying an outline of that day.

Remember when I spoke to you in the voice of that animal? Heart-wounded and with vomit in my hair. That night, there were so many stars embedded in my ceiling, that I barely had need to go outside.

Sara Lefsyk lives in Colorado and is the managing editor of Trio House Press. She has recently started her own handmade zine of writing and art called Ethel. Her first book of poetry, We Are Hopelessly Small and Modern Birds was published last year by Black Lawrence Press. Past publications include such places as Bateau, Phoebe, The New Orleans Review, The Greensboro Review and Poetry City, U.S.A. among others.